Estranged
by Clutching at Straws
Summary: With the world on the brink of World War III, MASK face a test of fire and Buddy faces a test of courage and loyalty... [Sequel to What It Takes]
1. One

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to Kenner and a bunch of animation studios. All I own is the situation, plot, backstory and some of the minor characters.

Author Note: If you're a M.A.S.K. canon purist, you may want to look away now. I'm playing a little fast and loose with one or two canon elements. I hope you can forgive me.

Story Note: This follows on from The Coming Storm and What It Takes. If you haven't read those, I strongly recommend you do as they sets up much of the back-story for this.

With many thanks to Nessa and Angel for editing, feedback and patient hand holding.

* * *

Estranged

One

The service bell dinged.

Lying beneath a Toyota truck with his wrench upraised, ready to work on the exhaust system, Buddy groaned. Earl had gone down to see Moses Abrahams about a part order and Cassidy had taken the morning off to go to the dentist. That meant he was on his own and, worse, he was going to have to go and serve the customer.

God but he hated that part of the job.

Dumping the wrench on the ground, he slid out from beneath the truck in time to hear the customer call, "Anyone here?"

Buddy froze midway between sitting and standing. He knew that voice. It had been seared into his brain one night, four months ago, when he'd witnessed the murder of Mac Stevens. He now had a name to go with the voice, Bruno Sheppard, and the knowledge that Sheppard was likely to kill him the moment the thug laid eyes on him.

"Anybody?"

Buddy swallowed. Earl would probably understand if he didn't go out there and serve Sheppard. On the other hand, the gas station was supposed to be open and Sheppard had a record for theft and vandalism when he didn't get his way.

"Anyone home?" Sheppard was starting to sound annoyed.

Buddy sighed. He normally liked to have a disguise prepared in advance. But sometimes, you didn't get that luxury – and thankfully, Sheppard wasn't that smart. He finally stood up and pushed his cap back from his forehead, both liberally streaking his face with grease and making himself look a little hayseed. Then, mentally thanking Dusty for teaching him a proper Texan drawl, Buddy headed out of the garage with the swinging gait of a ranch hand.

"Yessir?" he called.

Sheppard, who had been on the point of heading into the shop, stopped at the door and turned to face Buddy. "Oh. So you are open," he rumbled, sounding annoyed and looking disappointed.

Buddy offered an apologetic grin. "Gee, sir, I'm sorry; I was just out back. What can I do for you?"

Sheppard grunted. "Fill 'er up."

"You got it, sir; right away!" Making a great show of getting down to work, Buddy trotted around the orange GTO and started to fill the car's tank up with gas. At the same time, he made a mental note of everything he could see about the car, from its registration tag – which was probably a fake – to the contents of the rear and passenger seats.

It looked very much as if Sheppard was travelling alone. There was just one kit bag slung across the rear seat while the passenger side of the car was a mess of fast food wrappers and empty soda cans. From the impatient set to the thug's shoulders, Buddy suspected he was antsy to reach his destination. And since he'd been asked to fill the tank right up, Buddy guessed that destination wasn't going to be Boulder this time.

The gas pump cut out, indicating the tank was full now.

"How much?" grunted Sheppard as Buddy hung up the gas hose. Buddy named the amount. Sheppard handed over the right number of bills, climbed back into the GTO and peeled away from the gas station, even as Buddy called, "Y'all come back now?"

Once he was sure Sheppard was out of sight, Buddy sagged in relief. God, but he hated improvisation.

"Was that who I think it was?" enquired an English voice from the workshop entrance.

Someone else might have been startled, but after four months of working at Boulder Hill Gas Station, Buddy was used to people suddenly appearing. It was all part and parcel of working at a gas station that was used as cover for the headquarters of a top-secret organisation. He smiled to himself and slowly turned to face the speaker. "Depends," he said. "If you think it was VENOM's evolutionary throwback, then the answer's yes."

The man in the workshop doorway, Alex Sector, smiled faintly. "Quite a risk you took, then; serving him."

Buddy shrugged as he walked back towards the workshop. "Earl's not here and Cassidy's got the morning off. Besides, Sheppard's only met me twice, once when it was dark and once when I was pretending to be Rax."

"All the same…" Alex trailed off.

Buddy sat back down on the board and prepared to slide back beneath the Toyota. "It isn't like I had much of a choice." He slid under the truck, picked up the wrench he'd been using and started to wrestle with the brackets holding the muffler in place.

"I wonder what he wanted," Alex mused.

"Gas," said Buddy dryly, glaring at the bracket.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Sorry." He attacked the bracket and it finally began to loosen. "What do you want to know?"

"What can you tell me?"

The muffler came free of the rest of the exhaust system and Buddy slid out from beneath the truck. "Not a whole lot," he admitted. "I got the tag number, but---"

"But that's almost certainly going to be fake," Alex finished.

"Yeah." Buddy dropped the old muffler into the trash and picked up the new one, ready to fit it. "I don't think he's headed for Boulder, though."

"What makes you say that?"

Buddy smiled tightly as he slid back beneath the truck. "He was too antsy to get going again. Like he'd still got a long ass drive ahead of him." He started to fit the new muffler. "The amount of gas I sold him; you're looking at him doing at least another hundred miles."

"Hm." Alex sounded as though he was shaking his head. "Sometimes, good fortune proves to be entirely otherwise."

"You've been hanging out with Bruce too much," Buddy complained, tightening the bracket again. That provoked a chuckle. "Do you want me to do some digging?"

"Hm. It can't hurt, I suppose – though if you're right, and he wasn't heading for Boulder, would your sources know anything?"

Buddy slid back out from beneath the truck and offered Alex a shrug. "They might." He paused then, hesitantly, he asked, "Are you going to tell Matt?"

Alex had been on the point of turning towards the unassuming door at the back of the workshop that hid one of the entrances into MASK's secret headquarters. He now paused, his back to Buddy. "I don't know, Buddy, old chap. It seems so very little."

Buddy looked down at his hands. He knew full well what Alex actually meant. In the four months since Sarah's death Matt had been drifting, eaten up by a combination of grief and guilt. It was a combination Buddy knew all too well from his own troubles with Vanessa, except that he hadn't been left to brood for long. There had been too much going on at the time, and too many people making sure he was occupied.

The same couldn't be said for Matt.

"See what you can find out," said Alex decisively, reaching for the door. "We'll take it from there."

As the door closed behind Alex, Buddy slid back beneath the truck to finish off. He supposed Alex was right, but that didn't stop him from wondering.

* * *

Matt wanted to rub a hand over his face. He knew it was time to try and start again; he knew that Sarah would have kicked him in the rear for the mess he'd made of the last four months; he knew that Alex and Hondo were right. Unfortunately, knowing all of those things and actually acting on them were two different things, particularly when faced with the dissecting glare he was currently receiving. 

Seated on the other side of his desk was a lady in her mid-fifties. She had her iron-grey hair scraped back in a tight, practical bun and her face was set in a heavy frown as if she were disappointed by anything and everything in life, and most especially by what she could see in Matt just now.

"Ms Simpson---"

"It's Mrs," she said sharply. "My husband died in 1991."

Matt actually found himself blushing. To try and regain some composure, he looked down at the resume the agency had supplied him with. "I'm sorry; Mrs Simpson. I understand, from your resume, you were an elementary school teacher?"

"That is correct."

"If you don't mind, I'm curious as to why you left that role."

"An understandable question. In part, it was because the school I was working at closed. I could have had the pick of any position in the district, but I chose to retire. I taught," she added, just a touch of pride coming into her voice, "for nearly thirty years at that school and had so many wonderful memories; I simply couldn't face beginning all over again at a new school, knowing that I couldn't be in that position for more than a handful of years. Besides," she finished, distain replacing the pride, "I don't hold with some of the new methods they're bringing in."

Matt could well imagine. "Have you ever worked with younger children? Pre-school children and kindergartners, for example?"

"I was the eldest of thirteen children, Mr Trakker," Mrs Simpson answered, just a hint of a smile on her face now. "I learned from a very young age just how to take care of a small child. You will also find that my last position was that of nanny to triplets who were aged eighteen months when I began. The Eisenburgs will be happy to give you references."

Matt didn't have to ask the Eisenburg family for references; it had been Jim Eisenburg who had recommended Clara Simpson to him several months ago. Jim had said, _"She helped Margie so much when the triplets were babies; she can help you with Scott now."_ He hadn't acted on the recommendation at the time. He'd been too intent on clinging to Scott as if it were somehow a way to bring Sarah back. But it wasn't and reality was slowly reasserting itself.

"Mrs Simpson, you know why I'm looking for a nanny?"

"The agency told me you were a widower," Mrs Simpson replied. "I assume that you feel that you cannot cope, looking after your son alone."

"I can't," Matt admitted.

Mrs Simpson gave him another long, sharp glare, but her next words were surprisingly gentle. "Admitting you need help is not a bad thing, Mr Trakker."

"I know." Strangely, her kindness was more unsettling than her drill-sergeant demeanour. Matt swallowed. "It would be a live-in position; Scott will be two in a little over a month's time. The hours will also be a little irregular. I don't want to just hand him over to you, or to anyone, but---" Matt stopped.

"You're a business man," said Mrs Simpson in a tone of voice that implied that was some kind of crime. "I understand. Should you choose to hire me, we can come to an arrangement regarding that." She smiled again, properly this time, and all at once looked far less forbidding. "I am, however, glad to know you don't wish to lose touch with your son."

"I lost my wife; I'm not about to do the same thing with my son."

"Good."

Vaguely, Matt wondered just who was interviewing who here. He paused and tried to regain his train of thought. "Perhaps, the next thing is for you to meet Scott?" he suggested.

"Excellent idea, Mr Trakker." Mrs Simpson got to her feet. "Shall we?"

* * *

Vanessa waited in the shadow of the boarded up storefront and scanned the passing traffic keenly. Where the hell was Bruno? The longer she was standing here, the more chance there was of someone recognising her. Of course, it had been her idea to meet Bruno in Boulder – she'd had some personal business to deal with and it was more convenient all ways round – but the fact remained, there was a danger of someone recognising her. 

Or worse, someone spotting her and telling Buddy.

Vanessa shuddered at that thought. Considering what they were going to do, the last thing she wanted was to see Buddy. She didn't like the plan as it was; seeing Buddy would just ram that home and she wasn't sure she'd be able to go through with it.

Better to just avoid Buddy and get going.

Except that she couldn't, because Bruno was late.

Vanessa was just debating whether to find another way to get where she was supposed to be when the bright orange GTO that Bruno prided himself on turned the corner and pulled up to a halt just in front of her.

"Huh, uh, sorry," the thug mumbled as Vanessa glared at him. "Hadta get gas."

"Had to get gas," Vanessa repeated. "What the hell were you doing? Refining it?" She didn't bother waiting for a response, knowing the remark would fly right by Bruno, instead, she opened the door and stopped dead at the empty fast food wrappers littering the seat. "Bruno you're a slob."

Bruno smiled. "Thanks."

Vanessa groaned. Of course he'd take **that** as a compliment. "Well move them, you dumb jerk; I'm not sitting on top of greasy fry bags."

Hastily, Bruno did as she asked and shovelled the assorted garbage onto the back seat and Vanessa finally climbed into the GTO.

"So what kept you?" she persisted as Bruno pulled away from the pick up point.

"I told you; hadta get gas." Bruno shrugged.

"It took you forty minutes to get gas?" Vanessa asked, sceptically.

Bruno shrugged again and cut into the traffic, ignoring the angry honks behind them. "The place'd only got one attendant and he was out back," he said defensively. "Not like I had a whole bunch of choice, coming in through the canyon road."

Vanessa suddenly felt chilled. "You bought gas from Boulder Hill Gas Station?"

"What of it?"

_God; Buddy'll probably think I sent Bruno there on purpose._ Vanessa swallowed. "Everyone knows that place is the worst for service."

Bruno snorted. "That's their fault for hiring some dumb hick Texan."

Vanessa choked. She wasn't sure what was worse; Bruno's rank hypocrisy or the fact that she was almost positive she knew who the 'Texan' was. _Yep; Buddy'll think it was something I did._ She sighed. It could have been worse, she supposed; at least Bruno hadn't actually recognised Buddy. She was just going to have to try that much harder to make sure Bruno, and especially Rax, kept away from there.

Maybe Buddy would be sensible and lie low from now on.

"Any way," Bruno continued, oblivious of her discomfort. "I don't know what you're worried about. We'll be there before Mayhem gets antsy."

"We'd better," Vanessa warned.

Bruno sniggered. "Just relax and enjoy the ride, Red. We'll be there in plenty of time."

Vanessa closed her eyes and groaned softly. It was going to be a long hundred miles.

* * *

"We might as well close up," Cassidy observed as Buddy flipped idly through one of the elderly magazines in the waiting area. 

Apart from Bruno and the Toyota, the gas station had been quieter than the average grave. Not long after returning from Moses Abrahams' place, Earl had decided they didn't need two mechanics on hand and had taken off for the day, leaving Buddy to handle anything that came up.

If it came up.

And it hadn't so far.

Buddy dropped the magazine, which was weeks old, back onto the table. "Yeah; it doesn't look---"

Before he could finish his sentence, a car pulled onto the garage's forecourt, ringing the service bell.

Cassidy snorted. "Ain't that always the way."

Buddy stood up. "You said it." He glanced out of the window and blinked. There weren't too many Ferrari owners in Boulder. "Might as well start closing up anyhow. We'll definitely---" But for the second time in as many minutes, Buddy stopped half way through his sentence.

Getting out of the Ferrari was Enzo diFontana.

"What?" asked Cassidy.

"I don't know, but I'm betting he's not here for a tune up." Buddy headed for the door.

"Is this going to be violent?" Cassidy called.

Buddy paused and offered her a sheepish smile. "Enzo's an old friend, Cassidy. It's gonna mean trouble, but not the kinda thing you need to call the cops for." Then he stepped out onto into the late-afternoon sunlight.

Enzo had walked across the forecourt and was sticking his head into the workshop, clearly looking for someone, as Buddy exited the shop.

Buddy smiled faintly. "Looking for me?" he called.

Enzo jumped and span round, an accusing look on his face. "Hawks I oughta---"

Buddy held his hands up in a placatory gesture. "I promised Cassidy this wasn't going to come to a fight."

Enzo grinned. "And it won't; but sneaking up on your old friend like that's a good way to become an ex-friend."

Buddy grinned and shrugged. "It's not often I get the chance." His smile faded. "What's up?"

"Should anything be up?" Enzo enquired, coming to lean against his car.

"You're here," said Buddy. "I know for a fact you aren't here to get a tune up; as if you'd trust me with your baby." And he waved his hand at the Ferrari.

"Maybe I've changed my mind about your skills."

Buddy snorted. "Only if the devil needs snowshoes."

Enzo held up his hands in a placatory gesture. "All right, yes. There is something up. Though," he added, "for the record, I would let you touch my baby – now you're a real mechanic as opposed to some kid who thought he was good with cars."

Buddy wasn't sure whether to be mildly offended or gratified by Enzo's words. "So what's wrong?"

Enzo looked around. "Are we alone right now?"

"Cassidy's in the shop," Buddy answered, inclining his head in that direction. "Other than that and passing wildlife, we're good."

After another glance left and right, as if to check they really were alone, Enzo asked, "Have you seen Vanessa?"

Buddy felt his heart give that little clench it always did whenever his adoptive sister's name came up. He shook his head. "Haven't seen her in four months and it wasn't exactly social then. Why?"

Enzo ducked his head, clearly avoiding Buddy's gaze. "Damn."

"OK; spill, Enzo. What's going on?"

The older man sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "I was kinda hoping she'da seen some sense by now." He looked up again. "You'd better tell the folks you're working with that something's gonna go down."

"Something?" Buddy echoed. "That's not a whole lot to go on."

"Straight goods, Buddy. I don't know exactly what's being planned. Vanessa was in town today and yesterday. She hooked up with a dumb lug---"

"Bruno Sheppard?" Buddy suggested.

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately." Buddy smiled briefly. "He's tried to kill me, twice."

Enzo blinked at that information. Then shrugged. "Anyway. They headed out and last I heard, they'd pulled into Colorado Springs."

"Colorado Springs?" Buddy echoed.

Enzo shrugged again. "Like I said, I don't know what they're planning, but grapevine says there's a couple of other members of the same bunch there too, possibly including Mayhem himself."

"They're meeting up."

"Whatever's gonna go down, it's gotta be something in or near Colorado Springs." Enzo shrugged a third time. "That'd be my guess." He hesitated a beat, then added, "I think Juan knows a bit more this time, but you know he don't exactly like to give me the time of day."

"Then I guess I'm heading for the Sundown when I get off work." Buddy folded his arms across his chest. "Thanks for the heads up, Enzo."

Enzo smiled faintly. "Any time, Buddy." He turned and opened his car door. "Oh, there was one other thing."

Buddy lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Linda was wondering if you'd like to stop by sometime, for dinner."

The unexpected invitation brought a grin to Buddy's face. "Sure. That'd be fun."

Enzo nodded and a couple of moments later, he drove away. Buddy watched as the bright red car rapidly disappeared around the bend, heading back into Boulder.

"What was that all about?" Cassidy asked from the shop doorway.

"A dinner invite." Buddy turned to face Cassidy and offered her a smile. "Like I said; Enzo's an old friend."

"And did he bring trouble?"

Buddy's smile faded. "Good question." He headed for the workshop. "If you want to head off, I can finish closing."

"Don't change the subject," Cassidy retorted. "Buddy, what's going on?"

Buddy paused at the workshop's doorway and looked back at her. "I don't know."

"You know, I think that scares me more than it should."

Buddy just turned and headed into the workshop. The faster he packed the tools away and got the place closed up for the evening the sooner he could be in the Sundown Bar and the quicker he could start putting some meat on the bare bones Enzo had given him.

* * *

Vanessa sat down in front of the mirror in her room and propped up the ID card she'd been given just in front of her. The girl in the picture was a few years older than she was, but that wasn't something that bothered her much. She'd once spent an entire day pretending to be a woman in her sixties and only Buddy'd been able to recognise her. 

No, what bothered her was the fact that she had the ID card at all.

What she was going to do in twelve hours time.

Absently, Vanessa played with her hair, matching the strictly military hairstyle the girl in the ID photo was wearing.

Was she really going to go through with this? Could she really do it? Should she do it?

Life had been so much simpler back in Boulder.

"Smile," drawled Rax from the room's doorway. "It's gonna be perfect."

Vanessa glanced at him in the mirror. He was smirking. Fleetingly, she wondered where the kind smile he'd once shown her had gone. "You're sure about that?"

"Nothing's ever sure, babe, but that's half the fun." He stepped into the room. "Boss wants to know if you need anything else."

She looked back at the ID photograph. The girl had the olive skin tone and dark hair of an Italian heritage. "Hair dye."

"You'll have it," Rax promised. "You're gonna be perfect."

* * *

Matt stood in the doorway of the nursery and watched. Scott was lying, fast asleep, in his crib, one podgy arm wrapped around a tawny coloured teddy bear, the other flung out as if reaching for something. 

"You're doing the right thing, Matt." The soft voice belonged to his mother-in-law, Carol Petty, who had been staying with him since Sarah's funeral.

"Am I?"

"Of course you are." Carol gently put her hand on his arm and tugged him away from the door. "Matt, you're not someone who sits back and does nothing---"

"I haven't been doing nothing," Matt cut in, frowning.

"You know what I mean, Matt," said Carol firmly, guiding him into the dining room. "You're someone who goes out and does 'things'. I know you can't tell me what those 'things' are, but I also know that those 'things' are things that make my life a little safe. My life, Scott's life – Sarah's life."

"I'm not employed by the DoD any more," he answered.

Carol favoured him with a look that suggested she didn't believe a single word of that statement, though all she said was, "I'll be heading home tomorrow."

Matt blinked. "As soon as that?"

She chuckled. "You don't think I've left Steve to muddle through by himself for long enough? You'll be fine, Matt. You said yourself that Mrs Simpson was perfect for the job, she's going to start on Monday; you don't need me to hold your hand over the weekend. Particularly," she added, "seeing as you've more or less been looking after Scott yourself anyway."

When she put it like that, Matt could see her point. "You know I don't think I said thanks---"

"You don't have to, Matt. I would have come to stay anyway; Scott is my grandson, after all. But," she added, "when you married Sarah, you became my son. And that means when you need help, all you need to do is ask."

* * *

Buddy pushed open the door of the Sundown Bar and stepped into the dim interior. This wasn't a place he liked to come. The bar itself was a low-class dive and the clientele were of dubious merit. But, it was the only place where certain elements of the Boulder underworld could be found. So, sometimes, visits were necessary. 

Behind the bar, a bald man stood, polishing a glass. He scowled in Buddy's direction as the door closed, blocking out the last vestiges of sunlight.

"Hawks, you ain't welcome here."

"Easy Frank." Buddy held his hands out in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just lookin' for Juan. That's all."

"That's more'n enough," Frank growled. "You're underage and I don't like you."

"Then tell me where I can find Juan and I can get out of the way."

"Why should I?"

Buddy sighed. "Look, Frank, I know me being here pisses you the hell off and you know what? I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to see Juan. Now are you gonna tell me where that son of bitch is hiding his ass or---"

"Buddy, Buddy, Buddy, when will you figure out that Frank's just kiddin' wid ya?"

Out of the gloom a figure emerged. A tall, gangling man with long, greasy dark hair, a hooked nose and a face pockmarked and pitted by scars, Juan Gomez was not a man Buddy appreciated spending much time with. He was into various lines of business that even at the height of Buddy's wild days, Buddy hadn't wanted to touch. But, like Enzo, Juan had a wide web of contacts and an ability to weasel out information from even the tightest of security.

"You know," Juan continued, coming to lean on the bar right in front of Frank, "I kinda figured you'd be by."

"Me?"

"diFontana was sniffin' around here earlier," said Juan. "Figure he went and told you I knew something I wasn't tellin' and lookie here. Here you are. Right on schedule."

Buddy narrowed his eyes and glared at the mobster. "Cut the crap Juan. Do you know anything about what the hell my 'sister' is doing or don't you?"

"Maybe---"

Buddy lunged across the space between them and grabbed the older man by his lapels, driving him backwards into the edge of the bar. "I'm not in the mood, Juan," he snarled. "So either talk now or the cops might just get to hear about a little something that's waiting in one of your warehouses."

Juan blanched. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," Buddy retorted. "Now what do you know?"

Before Juan could say anything, Frank vaulted over the bar and grabbed Buddy by the shoulders, dragging him away from Juan. "I told you, Hawks; I don't like you. You're a punk and a trouble maker and I---"

"Frank, leave it," Juan ordered, fastidiously straightening his jacket. "Buddy's no trouble maker; just desperate for information." He snorted. "Though you won't be so keen when I tell you."

Buddy shrugged out of the burly barman's grip. "If you're gonna tell me Vanessa's hanging out with scum who make you look like Citizen of the Year, that's old news."

Juan sneered. "Insults won't get you what you want, Hawks. Play nice, or Frank really will cut loose on ya."

"All right; I'm listening."

Juan regarded his fingernails. "I got an order two weeks ago," he began. "Guy by the name of Nash Gorey wanted a set of valid military ID docs and the right Air Force uniforms for a party of six."

"What's that got to do with Vanessa?"

Juan smirked. "Gorey works for the same company Vanessa does. And the ID? Female."

* * *

"There," said Bruce. "It is done." 

Alex looked up from his work and eyed his colleague with scepticism. "Are you sure this time?"

Bruce looked suitably sheepish. "Well, it is done bar the testing."

Alex smiled. "I see. We'll start the tests in the morning--- I say, a visitor?" He had good reason to ask. All three entrances to the underground headquarters for MASK were fitted with sensors to warn those working there whenever anyone entered and right now, the warning for the entry from the garage was buzzing.

"I thought," said Bruce meditatively, "that Buddy had already left."

"He had," said Alex grimly, standing up.

"It is an ill wind that blows in unexpected visitors," Bruce murmured, beginning to pack up his work for the day.

Alex ignored him and opened the lab doors, just in time to see Buddy sprint past. "Buddy? Old chap, what's wrong?"

Buddy skidded to a halt on the slippery floor and turned. "Duane," he gasped. "Need to speak to Duane. Now."

Alex felt a knot in his shoulders begin to develop. "Why?"

Buddy swallowed, clearly trying to regain his breath. "It's complicated."

Alex glanced at his watch. "And given that it's nearly eleven o'clock in the evening on the East Coast, I think it had better be."

"Short form: VENOM are in Colorado Springs; they have military ID and air force uniforms. What does that add up to for you?"

"Bad news," said Alex. "Do you know what they're planning?"

Buddy shook his head. "I can guess, but…" He shrugged.

"Why Duane?"

"Because he can get security tightened, right?"

Alex nodded slowly. "You think they're actually stupid enough to try hitting a military base?"

"I think they can do more than that," Buddy answered.

* * *

Duane slowly swilled the Scotch around his glass and stared thoughtfully into the amber liquid. Perhaps, if he stared hard enough, he might find the answers to his questions. Perhaps. 

VENOM had been suspiciously quiet ever since the failed ransom attempt on Sarah Trakker and if there was one thing Duane had learned, the longer VENOM were quiet, the more outrageous their next stunt was.

He sipped the whiskey and frowned. It didn't help that Adams, Palmer and Grant were still stonewalling him on intelligence.

"Not a high priority my ass," he muttered. "They wouldn't find a high priority if it was stapled to their rears and they were handed maps."

He ought to head home, rather than sleeping in his office for the third night this week, but since Katherine had left, going home held no appeal. The place seemed cold and, above all, empty since her departure. And the couch here wasn't that uncomfortable.

He set the glass of Scotch down on the table and started to loosen off his tie. A few minutes more and he'd turn the light down and stretch out on the couch.

Then came the one sound he dreaded hearing above everything. The phone started to ring.

Duane groaned. At this time of night, it couldn't be good.

He stood up, crossed to his desk and pushed the speakerphone button. "Duane Kennedy."

"Duane, it's Alex Sector, in Colorado," came the unexpected answer. "Can you put this call on video?"

Duane picked up a remote from beside the phone, aimed it at the blank video screen in the corner of his office and turned it on. "There you go," he answered. Then he blinked as the picture feed from Colorado came in. Not only was Matt not present, standing beside Alex was comfortably his least favourite member of Matt's team. "Alex? What's going on?"

"Sorry to call you so late, Duane," Alex answered, "but Buddy's been doing a little intelligence gathering and he's found something he thinks you need to know now."

Duane just about restrained his groan. "Intelligence gathering?" he echoed. "And what do you mean 'he thinks I need to know'?"

The youth folded his arms across his chest and glared levelly at him. "You don't like me. I know that. Believe me, the feeling's mutual. So you can take it from me that I wouldn't be here if this wasn't important."

"Where is Matt in all this?" Duane asked, ignoring Buddy's declaration for the moment.

"Still on compassionate leave," Alex answered.

So this hadn't even been approved by Matt. Great. Duane didn't bother to restrain the roll of his eyes at that discovery. "It's late and I'm not in the mood for jokes, Hawks, so this had better be good."

"Bruno Sheppard came through town today," came the answer.

"And you've called me to tell me that?"

"No," Buddy shot back, "I've called to tell you where he was going, who he was going to meet up with and, probably, what they're gonna do."

Duane snorted. "You'll forgive my scepticism, but how do you know that?"

Buddy smiled coldly. "I have contacts."

"All right; I'm listening."

"VENOM are in Colorado Springs. It's a group that includes Bruno Sheppard, Nash Gorey and Vanessa Warfield." Duane heard the youth trip over that last name and just about bit back another snort. "Gorey's got military ID for a female Air Force captain and the uniforms for a six-person team."

"You don't seriously expect me to believe," Duane began, "that Miles Mayhem is going to try and get into a military base?"

"No, I don't," Buddy retorted. "Vanessa **will**."

For a full minute, Duane was speechless. "Excuse me?"

"You know the part that young Buddy here played in Sarah's rescue," said Alex.

Duane nodded unwillingly. The report of that affair had long since crossed his desk. "I fail to see what that's got to do with---"

"Who do you think taught me how to do that?" Buddy asked, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Duane blinked slowly. "You're saying Vanessa is as good a mimic as you are?"

"I'm saying she's better," said Buddy.

That gave Duane a moment's pause. As much as he disliked and mistrusted Buddy, he couldn't argue with the assessment from both Hondo McLean and Matt that Buddy had a great deal of talent at mimicry. That meant, by extension, if Buddy said someone else was as good or better, he was probably right. "You're sure about all this? The military ID, the uniforms?"

"About as sure as I can be without going to Colorado Springs and looking," Buddy answered.

Duane rubbed his finger across his moustache in an effort to try and conceal his discomfort. "All right," he said. "What do you think they're planning to do?"

"There are several Air Force bases in the Colorado Springs area," said Alex. "All with reasons for Mayhem's interest."

"Your contacts don't have any suggestions?" Duane asked, not quite managing to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Buddy, for his part, glared. "I've told you everything I know."

"All right." Duane sighed. "I'll get onto the bases and tell them to be on the look out for anything suspicious. And god help you, Hawks, if I find out this has been a wild goose chase."

Buddy opened his mouth to reply, but Duane cut the connection. He really didn't need to hear any more from the youth. Besides, as much as he was dubious about the tip, he did have to call across to the DoD and register it. Maybe it was nothing, but with Mayhem, he couldn't take the chance.

* * *

The lights of the guard post loomed out of the darkness. Vanessa gripped the steering wheel of the stolen air force jeep a little bit tighter. This was going to be the test. Her uniform was right, her hair and make-up matched the picture on the ID card; the question was, would the guards buy it? 

As she reached the barrier, she tried not to glance off into the darkness. She knew that somewhere, not far from the guard post, Mayhem and the others were lurking, aiming to use her arrival to cover their entry into the base. Looking for them would give the game away, but it was hard not to.

"Ma'am," said the guard on duty, approaching the jeep. "Would you mind coming into the post for a moment?"

Vanessa swallowed and hoped he wouldn't see the nervous gesture. "Is there a problem?"

The reply was unexpectedly sheepish. "Orders are we have to double check everyone; sorry, ma'am. I know you're coming back from leave, but---"

"But orders are orders." Vanessa mustered a smile. "Of course."

She got out of the jeep and followed him into the brightly lit hut where she discovered, to her surprise, that the guard was as young as she was. She'd expected him to be older.

"Did you have a good vacation, ma'am?" he asked, even has he held his hand out for her ID.

"Can't complain," Vanessa replied. She was going to have to be careful; the guard clearly knew the real owner of the ID.

He scanned the ID and then glanced at her. Vanessa felt her heart skip a beat. Then he smiled. "All right, Captain, welcome back." He handed back the ID card.

Vanessa smiled back. "Thank you."

"Just park in the usual place," he advised.

"Will do." Vanessa had no idea where the 'usual place' was, but guessed it would be easy enough to figure out.

She got back into the jeep and he raised the barrier, allowing her into the base. Stage one was complete.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED 


	2. Two

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to Kenner and a bunch of animation studios. All I own is the situation, plot, backstory and some of the minor characters.

Author Note: If you're a M.A.S.K. canon purist, you may want to look away now. I'm playing a little fast and loose with one or two canon elements. I hope you can forgive me.

Story Note: This follows on from The Coming Storm and What It Takes. If you haven't read those, I strongly recommend you do as they sets up much of the back-story for this.

With many thanks to Nessa and Gamine for editing, feedback and patient hand holding.

* * *

Estranged

Two

The distant buzzing sound was what pulled Duane out of an uneasy sleep. It took him a few moments to recall where he was, namely his office, and a few moments more before he was awake enough to recognise that the buzzing sound was his pager going off. **That** realisation had him upright and off the couch in a second. He didn't need to look at his watch to know that it was early, which meant something big had happened – and if he was being paged, whatever it was couldn't be good.

Duane picked up the electronic device from his desk, where he'd dumped it the night before, checked the number and felt his fear crystallised in his stomach. Definitely not good: The number belonged to President Strauch's chief of staff, Elizabeth Bennington.

He picked up the phone and dialled her number. He wasn't surprised when the call was answered barely a second later by an efficient female voice: "Chief of Staff's office."

"Elizabeth? You wanted me?"

"Duane? Where are you?" In those four words, the efficiency melted away, leaving her sounding so agitated that for a moment, Duane almost didn't recognise her voice. Elizabeth Bennington was never anything other cool, calm and collected.

"In my office," Duane answered, resting a hip against the desk. "What's going on?"

"The President needs to see you, Duane; now, if not sooner."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

"Make that a short five minutes."

The line went dead as Elizabeth hung up. Duane, for his part, dropped his receiver back onto its cradle and rubbed his face. He had a feeling this was going to be the start of a very, very bad day.

* * *

Buddy lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was nearly twenty after five in the morning, he would be getting up in less than two hours, and yet here he was; wide awake.

What was Vanessa doing in Colorado Springs?

The question had been buzzing around his mind all night and he was still no nearer an answer. He couldn't believe she'd be dumb enough to help Mayhem get into an Air Force base, no matter what he'd said to Duane. The trouble was, he couldn't think of another plausible suggestion.

Not for the first time, Buddy wished he could wrap his hands around Rax's throat and squeeze, hard. The biker had a lot to answer for – fraud, murder, brainwashing, kidnapping…the list seemed endless. Someday, Buddy promised himself, he was going to pay Rax back for everything. Someday.

He rolled over, onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillows. As tempting as thoughts of revenge against Rax were, they weren't going to help him sleep – and that was what he really needed just then.

Maybe he'd get lucky and the day ahead would be as dull and quiet as the day before.

* * *

Quietly, Matt slipped out of the side door and into the darkness. The early morning cold easily bit through his flimsy running gear and he supposed he ought to be thankful that at least there was no snow on the ground.

He started off on his run. Since he was going to be getting back to business, it made sense to get back in shape, and he'd always found running a lap or two good for that. The darkness didn't bother him; he knew the path well and even though it had probably been nearer six months since his last run, it seemed as if his feet still remembered the course. It was also surprisingly therapeutic. Just for a time, at least, there was just him and the sound of his feet hitting the ground.

As Matt passed along the terrace at the back of the mansion, he noticed a light on in one of the upper rooms. A moment of quick thought told him it was one of Buddy's rooms. That was a realisation that made him shake his head and smile ruefully. Sarah would have probably told him that Buddy was working too hard again. The trouble was, it took someone like Sarah to see that kind of thing.

Well he was just going to have to try and do his best.

Resolved to have a word with Buddy later, Matt turned and headed into the main gardens. He wouldn't do the whole lap today, just along the back of the tennis court and back to the house, just to ease back into it.

No sense in getting injured by pushing to far too fast.

* * *

From the way Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in general disgust, Duane got the feeling she wasn't all that impressed with how he looked as he walked in through the door.

"You look like hell," she hissed, falling into step with him.

"Get here quick, or look civilised. Pick one," Duane retorted.

Elizabeth made no comment, but her look said it all.

Duane chose to ignore her. "So what is going on? You didn't say a great deal over the phone."

"Short form: The shit's hit the fan in a big way," she replied, pushing a door open and ushering Duane through. "As soon as the President gets off the phone with Prime Minister Trench, you'll get a full briefing."

Duane blinked. "Is the---" But he couldn't finish his question as Elizabeth ushered him into the Oval Office.

The President was, as Elizabeth had said, on the phone, but even as Duane entered the room, President Strauch said, "Believe me, Prime Minister, we're working on this with all available resources and from every possible angle."

That seemed to be the end of the conversation, and President Strauch put his phone receiver down.

"You wanted to see me, Mr President?" Duane began.

Strauch looked up. "It's not a case of 'want', so much as 'need', Duane. We have a major crisis on our hands and by we, I don't just mean the United States, I mean the whole damn world."

Duane felt the fear in his gut turn to ice. "Something's happened; in Colorado," he said softly.

Strauch blinked slowly. "Something all right," he agreed. "At seven o'clock, Eastern Standard Time, the Pentagon lost contact with Command Control at Cheyenne Mountain. At ten after seven, Eastern, the ransom demand came in."

"From VENOM?" Duane asked.

Again, Strauch blinked slowly. "Ye-es." He shook his head. "OK; Grant had no idea there was anything in the wind. Palmer was also caught napping. How in the blue hell do you know about this?"

There was an unspoken question there: Why did you do nothing and let this happen? Duane took a moment to order his thoughts. "You remember Matt Trakker?" Strauch nodded. "Well one of his task force members uncovered **something** yesterday. It was vague and unspecific, but it centred on Colorado Springs. I got the heads up at eleven o'clock last night. To be perfectly truthful, I didn't put a great deal of stock in the information, but I phoned it through to General Tucker's office and requested that base security be tightened, pending further information."

"And did Tucker's office do that?"

Duane was half way through the shrug before it occurred to him it probably wasn't protocol to shrug at the President. On the other hand, this was clearly a situation that went well beyond the demands of protocol. "I don't know, sir."

Strauch waved the comment off. "Not a fair question, Duane; I know you have no way of knowing the answer to that." He leaned forwards, until his elbows were resting on his desk. "Their demands are, on the face of it, simple: Pay them off or they'll nuke Washington. Except that it's not just Washington they've set their sights on. They're aiming missiles at London, Paris, Moscow and Beijing. As you might imagine, the leaders of those countries are not happy. The most reasonable of the bunch is Prime Minister Trench – and he was really pretty creative with his description of how American military security looks right now."

Duane had met the British Prime Minister on the latter's last visit to the US. He could well imagine how the forthright statesman would have put matters.

"We need to do something and we need to be doing it now," Strauch continued. "The trouble is, Cheyenne Mountain was designed to be impregnable. We can't even smoke them out. I've already asked General Vasquez for a plan from Special Forces; but neither he nor I can see how a Special Forces strike can end up as anything other than a blood bath for all sides. So if you have any other ideas, now would be the time to air them."

"Trakker's task force," Duane replied, without hesitation. "This is what they've been assembled for; this is what they're trained for and they've got the added advantage that they're based in Boulder which is only a hundred miles away from Colorado Springs."

Strauch ran his fingers through his hair. "The team's complete?"

"As near as makes no odds. They've been technically operational for the past four months, although with VENOM having been quiet in that time, they haven't really had much to do."

For a response, Strauch pushed a button on his phone. A moment later and Elizabeth reappeared. "Liz, I need you to arrange the fastest transport to get Duane to Boulder. And this needs to be done quietly." Strauch smiled faintly. "I don't want to give Mayhem any more information than I have to."

"Yes, Mr President." Elizabeth departed again.

Strauch pushed the phone across the desk. "Call Trakker. Let's get this under way."

* * *

Matt climbed the hill slowly, heading back towards the mansion. His lungs were burning, he had a stitch and several of his muscles were complaining, but it was a good set of aches. A few more sessions like this and he'd probably be back to his best.

He reached the terrace and glanced up. Buddy's light was off again, which made Matt smile faintly. Maybe Buddy hadn't been burning the midnight oil, after all. There was, however, a light on in one of the ground floor rooms; the one that he used as an office.

Suddenly, the aches and pains he'd picked up during the run seemed secondary. If there was a light on in the office, his work phone line had rung. And if that had happened at five of six in the morning, it probably meant it was someone in Washington.

And that couldn't mean anything good.

Ignoring his aches and tiredness, Matt picked up his pace once more and reached the door, just as it swung open. Carol was standing in the doorway, her bathrobe pulled tightly around her.

"I saw you coming," she murmured.

"Thanks."

Carol hesitated a beat. "Duane Kennedy's just called."

Matt entered the house, closing the door behind him. "Did he leave a message?"

"He's going to call back in five minutes." But pat on Carol's words came the sound of the telephone ringing.

Without saying anything, Matt hurried through to his office and picked up the phone. "Duane?"

"Matt; thank God."

"What's going on?"

There was a long pause. "I need you to assemble your team."

Matt closed his eyes. "Why?"

"Too long to explain and I have a helicopter standing by to take me to Andrews Air Force Base. I'm going to be in Boulder by nine thirty, Mountain; I'll give you a full briefing then. Just---" Duane paused again. "Tell Hawks he was right."

There was a click and the line went dead. Matt opened his eyes again. Carol was standing in the office doorway, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Should I be worried?" she asked.

"Probably," Matt answered, putting the receiver down.

"Do you need me to stay?"

Duane had been vague but the sheer fact that he hadn't waited for 'office hours' to call and the fact that he was coming to give the briefing in person told Matt this wasn't going to be something Scott should be around. "Please."

"All right." Carol nodded. "I'll go and put the coffee on."

Matt smiled faintly. "Thanks, Carol." As she left the office doorway, Matt turned back to the phone. Time to call in a couple of reinforcements.

* * *

Hondo lay in bed, his head buried beneath his pillow, trying to muffle out the sound of the ringing telephone. When that didn't work, he thrust one arm out of bed, lifted the receiver up and dropped it back onto its cradle. He didn't need to know the time to know it was far too early for anyone to be calling him, particularly seeing as this was his one day off from his job at the university and therefore he didn't actually have to be awake any time before noon.

"That could be important," his wife pointed out.

Hondo just grunted. "If it was important---"

The phone started to ring again.

"---they'll ring back," he finished, groaning. He stuck his arm out of bed again and picked up the receiver. "This had better be good," he grumbled.

"It's Matt," came the answer. "And it's not good at all."

The serious tone in his friend's voice cut through the sleep still fogging Hondo's brain. "Matt?" He rolled over and struggled into a sitting position. "What's up? And what time is it, any way?"

"It's a quarter after six," Matt replied. "As for what's up, Duane wasn't saying."

**That** cleared the rest of the fog from Hondo's brain. "What do you need?"

"What you specialise in. Tactics. Ours – and theirs."

Hondo swung his legs out of bed. "Where?"

"Just up at the mansion; for now. Duane'll be here at nine-thirty to give us the full briefing." Matt sounded grim.

Hondo swallowed. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hung up the receiver and stood up.

"Something wrong?" his wife asked.

Hondo paused in the bathroom doorway and looked back at her. "I don't know."

"And you couldn't tell me if you did," she realised. She shook her head. "I guess this means you won't be painting the kitchen today?"

Hondo just entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. If Duane was coming for the briefing, whatever it was had to be about as bad as it could get.

* * *

Vanessa entered the control room, grateful to be out of the Air Force uniform and back into her VENOM one. For one thing, it meant her expression was now hidden by Whip, which meant no-one else was going to suspect just how disturbed she was by this whole thing.

The first thing her gaze fell on was the far corner, where the command staff had been corralled together, under the guard of Rax. One of them, a lieutenant to judge by his rank insignia, was pinned to the wall by a series of small stiletto darts that Rax had fired at him when the lieutenant had tried to be a hero. It was his predicament – and Rax's chilling promise that the next person to try anything would end up pinned to the wall through their heart – that was keeping the rest of the staff silent and compliant more than Rax's actual presence.

Then Vanessa found her gaze being drawn to Gorey, who was frantically hammering away at the keyboard. She couldn't begin to guess what he was doing, seeing as the base was already locked down and secured against reprisals, with Sheppard and Dagger standing watch at either end of the main entry tunnel. A moment later, as a map of the world flashed up on the computer screen that dominated one side of the command centre, complete with red dots indicating their prospective targets, Vanessa had her answer.

"All targets logged and locked, Mayhem," Gorey reported.

"Good," Mayhem answered. "Twenty-four hours, and if they haven't paid, those targets become smoking ruins."

Vanessa shuddered.

* * *

Alex waved as he watched Hondo parking his car in Matt's parking garage.

"Good morning, Hondo old chap," he called.

Hondo just offered him a sour look. "You're disgustingly cheerful."

"Part of my charm," Alex answered. "Do you know what Matthew's called us here to discuss?"

The ex-special forces operative shrugged his shoulders. "I figure Mayhem's finally made his move."

They started to climb the steps that led from the garage to the mansion proper. "That would seem to be logical," Alex agreed. "I suppose the question is, what move is it?"

Hondo just grunted.

Matt was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. He looked freshly showered but his smile was strained. "Thanks for coming."

"Just so's you know, Lydia's pretty pissed at you right now," Hondo warned. "I was supposed to be painting the kitchen."

Matt ushered them towards his office. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, but---"

"But this is what we signed on for, when we agreed to be part of MASK," Alex completed.

Matt spread his hands in a wide shrug and led them into the office.

"So what's going on?" Hondo asked.

"I'm not sure," Matt answered. "And Duane didn't have the time to fill me in before he left DC."

"Whatever it is, it can't be good if Duane's calling you before breakfast," Hondo observed.

"No," Matt agreed.

Alex felt acid beginning to bubble unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach as he recalled his conversation with Duane the previous day. "You say Duane is coming here to give us a briefing?" At Matt's answering nod, Alex swallowed. It was the one thing he hadn't let himself think on the way over to the mansion. "Buddy was right; wasn't he?"

Matt leaned against his desk and folded his arms. "Duane's exact words were 'Tell Hawks he was right'. My question is, right about what?"

* * *

With very little to do, except sit and wait, Vanessa found herself taking up a seat in the command centre not far from where the hostages were being kept. Idly, she noted that they weren't all Americans, which surprised her. She recognised the maple leaf insignia as being Canadian, but the other uniforms were unfamiliar and she vaguely wondered what the other countries represented were.

As Vanessa's gaze reached the prisoner closest to her, a young woman wearing the rank of captain from the US Air Force, one of the other prisoners, a tousle-headed blond man in one of the unfamiliar uniforms looked up at her.

"They won't let you get away with this," he said laconically, announcing his nationality as Australian. "They can't."

"And what can they do to us in here?" Rax drawled.

The man shrugged. "They'll find a way and then you can kiss your sweet little deal good bye. Of course," he added, "you could always have a backup plan."

"Malloy, shut your damn mouth," snarled the imprisoned lieutenant.

Malloy just looked over his shoulder at the lieutenant. "And **you're** gonna make me how?"

"Who needs a backup plan," sneered Rax.

"Having one never hurts," Vanessa retorted, joining the conversation for the first time. To the mop-headed Malloy, she simply said, "I'm listening."

"A woman of intelligence. I like that in someone who's just taken me hostage." Malloy's grin was lascivious. "There's an emergency exit---"

"Malloy, shut up; that's an order," snapped the lieutenant, straining against the stilettos holding him in place.

Feigning casual disinterest, Vanessa took aim at the lieutenant and said, "Whip – on." The electric whip arced out from her mask and wrapped itself around the lieutenant's neck. "Now," she said, "how about you take your own advice, or I shut you up, permanently."

For a second, she wondered if he'd call her bluff. Then he swallowed and nodded as best he could.

"Good." She muttered the 'off' command and the electric whip dissipated. The lieutenant swallowed, hard. "Malloy; you were saying?"

Malloy chuckled. "You realise, I'll have to come with you now? One word from jerkface over there and I'm looking at a real nice long stay in one of your prisons."

"If your plan's any good, you've got yourself a deal."

"Oh, it's good," said Malloy. "It's damn good."

* * *

Matt wanted to hit something in general frustration. "So what you're saying is it could be any one out of four bases in the Colorado Springs area."

"You can rule one of them out," said Hondo. "There's nothing at the Air Force academy that would interest Mayhem."

"That still leaves Peterson, Falcon and Cheyenne Mountain," Matt pointed out. "Each one of them would be a good target."

Alex frowned, then shook his head. "For Mayhem to be so bold, he has to have decided he has a good chance of succeeding. Hondo, which of those bases would be the easiest to defend?"

Hondo flashed a brief smile. "You do remember I was in the army, right?"

"I do, old boy, but as our resident military expert---"

"I know." Hondo sighed. "I don't know much about Falcon. That's still kinda new. Peterson, though, isn't too contained or easily defended by a small team. Too much open space and runways."

"That leaves Cheyenne Mountain," Matt finished.

"That's the one I'd pick," said Hondo with a shrug. "It's inside a mountain. You can't get much more self-contained."

Matt ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "That sounds like our best candidate but, until Duane gets here, we won't know for sure." He rubbed his face. What to do next? "All right. Here's what I think we need to do to be ready for Duane. Hondo, could you let Buddy know we're going to need the vehicles?"

"You got it," Hondo agreed. He headed for the office door. "Are you heading over to the command centre?"

Matt nodded briefly. "Yeah."

"All right; I'll meet you over there." And with that, Hondo vanished.

Matt turned to Alex. "How is your project doing?"

Alex smiled faintly. "We should be ready for testing."

Matt pushed away from his desk. "Good. 'Cause I get the feeling it's going to get a real test, real soon."

* * *

Buddy was just leaving the bathroom when the knocking started. Hastily pulling on his sweat pants, he called, "Just a minute!"

The knocking ceased and Buddy glanced at his clock. It was twenty after seven; under normal circumstances, his alarm would have only just gone off. Definitely too early for visitors. That meant there was something wrong. Even with that realisation, though, he was more than a little surprised to see Hondo standing outside the apartment when he opened the door.

"Sorry to wake you, kid," said Hondo.

Buddy shook his head. "I was up already." He paused, taking in Hondo's heavy-set frown. "What's going on?"

"We need you to go over Firecracker, Rhino, Condor and Thunderhawk," came the startling answer.

Buddy blinked. "Why?"

"Because we're gonna need 'em," said Hondo.

And Hondo's tone of voice suggested that probably didn't mean for just a road trip. Buddy swallowed. "I'm on it."

Hondo smiled faintly. "See you over at the base."

Hondo turned and headed down the stairs while Buddy headed back into the apartment, a sinking feeling in his gut: Did this mean VENOM had made their move in Colorado Springs? _Vanessa, what have you done?_

* * *

The plane wasn't Air Force One, Duane decided, but it was certainly a cut above a regular passenger plane. They'd been in the air for nearly two hours, he'd been able to wash, change his clothes and choke down something that resembled breakfast.

Not that he really felt like eating.

Elizabeth was sending him regular updates on the situation via the onboard fax machine and the situation was going from bad to worse. The last fax was the most chilling of the lot. Russia and China had both promised that if the situation wasn't dealt with inside of twelve hours, they would take matters into their own hands.

And all he could do was sit and wait for the next update.

Duane crumpled the fax into a little ball and tossed it in the direction of the garbage can. Couldn't this plane go any faster?

* * *

Bruce hummed softly to himself as he pulled into the vehicle bay of the Boulder Hill underground complex. Most of his mind was occupied by plotting a series of rigorous tests for the project he'd completed the day before. It was vital that the project was well tested; someone's life could depend on it.

As he parked, however, he noticed that there was something different about the vehicle bay this morning. For a few seconds, as he juggled an oversized cup of coffee, his notes and his car keys, he couldn't work out what it was; then it hit him: There was someone already in the bay. As if the clang of metal on metal wasn't a big enough clue, Bruce finally spotted a pair of feet sticking out from beneath the shapely bright red front end of Thunderhawk.

"Good morning?" he called.

There was a dull thump, then a curse, then Buddy appeared from beneath the car, rubbing his head. "I'm not sure it's all that good," he muttered.

Bruce smiled apologetically. "I am sorry; I did not realise you had not heard me arrive."

Buddy waved the apology off. "It's not that. There's something going on."

"Something?" Bruce echoed.

Buddy shrugged. "I don't know." He prepared to slide back under the Camaro. "All I know is, I've got to get everything checked over and as quickly as I can." He slid under the car. "Figure I'll see you later."

Disquieted, Bruce hurried into the main complex and along to his lab. Having spoken to Buddy, he was not surprised to find Alex was already there, and looking grim.

"We need to work quickly," Alex warned. "And pray that everything works as it should."

"What is wrong?" Bruce asked.

"At this point, we're not sure," Alex admitted, "so we're preparing for anything."

Bruce nodded. "In uncertain weather a wise man hopes for the best but assumes the worst." He set his coffee and notes down on the closest of the workbenches. "Where should we begin?"

* * *

"What have we got?" Hondo asked as the last sheet of paper finished feeding out of the command centre's printer.

"Building plans for the three bases," Matt answered. "I wish Duane had given us a hint as to which one it was," he added. "Without knowing which one, we've got to figure we need at least some thoughts about re-taking any of them."

"If it's as bad as we think, Duane probably couldn't say over an open line," Hondo pointed out. "Besides, the more I think about this, the less likely I think either Peterson or Falcon are. Think about it, Matt; if it was either of them that VENOM had taken over, why wouldn't they just send the Rangers in? Or Delta Force? Or, heck, even the SEALS, though I know they prefer ops that feature some water somewhere. They're the guys with the experience, and the numbers, to re-take an airbase."

Matt sighed as he started to spread out the pages that made up the Falcon Air Base plan. "I know. But---"

"But we have to figure out three plans anyway," Hondo finished. "I know." He leaned over and started to study the layout of Falcon Air Base. "This ain't gonna be easy."

"No," Matt agreed.

"How many agents can we field, maximum?"

For an answer, Matt turned to the computer and said, "How many active MASK agents are currently located within fifteen miles of this location?"

A moment later, the monotone computer voice came back: "Seven."

Hondo winced. "I was wrong. It's not just gonna be difficult, it's gonna be damn nearly impossible."

"I thought impossible was your trick – or was Bill Jenkins lying about how El-Haurian got retaken?"

"I hate to say this, Matt, but El-Haurian was part luck and part training."

"Then we'll just have to hope we get lucky," Matt answered. "Let's get down to work."

* * *

Thunderhawk hadn't required much more than a quick check over. Nor had Condor – the motorbike had only just completed its final batch of testing and been declared ready so it was just a case of double checking that Dusty hadn't shaken anything loose. That meant, so far as Buddy was concerned, he had much more time to go over Rhino.

The big rig, like Thunderhawk, had been designed and put together by Andy Trakker. Unlike Thunderhawk, it had been mothballed shortly after Andy's murder, four years earlier and part of Buddy wished it had stayed that way. His experience with diesel engines had been limited and his experience with rigs like Rhino had been nil.

When Rhino had refused to start up after being retrieved from storage, it had finally taken Earl – who had, in his younger days, worked as a mechanic for one of the long distance trucking firms based in Denver – and nearly two days punctuated by a wide variety of profanity before the big rig's engine was running right. And that had just been the start of the problems, from Buddy's point of view.

There had been a whole host of other issues he'd uncovered. Some were the result of four years of no use; some were places where the truck's construction had been incomplete; some were just flat out incomprehensible. The net result was that four and a half months on from its return from mothballs and Buddy was no fonder of working on Rhino, if rather more practiced. He kept promising himself that, when he had the time, he was going to completely gut the truck's main systems and start over, but the time was never available.

"Let's see what's broken today," he muttered, opening up the engine casing. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

He hauled himself up into the cab and tried the ignition. Nothing happened.

Buddy groaned. He hoped they weren't going to need Rhino in the next hour; it was probably going to take him that long to figure out which part of the starter sequence had failed this time.

* * *

"Sir?"

Duane looked up from the most recent fax from Elizabeth, which detailed the last resort plan from General Vasquez, and found a member of the flight crew standing next to him. "Yes?"

The woman smiled. "I thought you'd appreciate knowing that we're on our final approach to Boulder Municipal Airport, and we've had confirmation that there's a car ready and waiting to take you where you need to go."

Duane mustered a smile. "Thank you."

She smiled again and took her own seat as the plane began its descent into Boulder.

As far as Duane was concerned, landing was always the worst bit of the flight and this one was no different. By the time he felt the plane touch down on the runway, he felt as if he'd been bounced around like a squash ball, but at least he had reached Boulder and the Third World War hadn't broken out. Yet.

He thanked the flight crew as he disembarked and headed rapidly across the small airport's tarmac to the waiting governmental limo.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Duane debated for a moment. Where would Matt be right now? "Boulder Hill Gas Station," he said finally.

If the driver was remotely surprised by the destination, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply nodded and the moment Duane had taken his seat in the limo's passenger compartment, the final leg of his journey began.

* * *

Cassidy frowned heavily at the balance sheet. Somewhere on it, she'd mislaid two measly cents and unless she could spot the error quickly, she was going to have to redo all her totals. At the back of her mind, she was curious as to where Buddy was; it was a little after nine-thirty and she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. It certainly wasn't like him to be this late in starting.

Then again, he had been acting strangely the night before.

Maybe he'd gotten himself into trouble again. She snorted. If that was the case, he'd probably got bigger problems than being late for work.

The shop door opened, jingling the bell in an annoyingly cheery fashion. Without bothering to look up from the balance sheet, she said, "How much?"

"I'm here to see Matt Trakker," came the answer.

Cassidy's head jerked up in surprise and found herself looking at a man dressed in an expensive, dark suit and wearing the air of someone who usually gets their own way. She snorted again. "He's not here," she said.

The man smiled faintly. "He'll want to see me."

"And I've just told you, he ain't here," Cassidy retorted. "I ain't seen him all morning and I've been here since eight o'clock."

There was more that Cassidy wanted to say, but before she could, the bell jangled again, heralding another arrival in the shop and Cassidy felt her mouth drop open as no lesser person than Matt himself walked through the open door.

The man in the suit, who'd turned to see who the new arrival was, greeted Matt with a smile. "Matt."

"Duane." Matt smiled.

The man in the suit, Duane, inclined his head in Cassidy's direction. "She doesn't know?"

"Not yet. And now's probably not the time."

"Don't mind me," Cassidy muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry; I will explain later," Matt promised.

And before Cassidy could ask for any further clarification, both Matt and Duane exited the shop and headed in the direction of the workshop.

"Some days," she muttered, returning her attention to the balance sheet, "it just don't pay to get outta bed."

* * *

"How bad is it?" Matt asked as he led Duane into the MASK headquarters.

"Take whatever worst case you've come up with, multiply it by ten and add a few," Duane answered. "Mayhem's trying to provoke World War Three. And what's worse is he's nearly succeeded."

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED 


	3. Three

Disclaimer: Most of the characters belong to Kenner and a bunch of animation studios. All I own is the situation, plot, backstory and some of the minor characters.

Author Note: If you're a M.A.S.K. canon purist, you may want to look away now. I'm playing a little fast and loose with one or two canon elements. I hope you can forgive me.

Story Note: This follows on from The Coming Storm and What It Takes. If you haven't read those, I strongly recommend you do as they sets up much of the back-story for this.

* * *

Estranged

Three

Gloria hurried across the UC campus. She was going to be late, that much was certain, but she could at least do her best to minimise it. How could she have been so stupid as to oversleep?

Just as she reached the steps that led up and into the fine arts building, however, her watch began to bleep.

For a moment, the sound puzzled her. She hadn't set the alarm – had she done, she wouldn't have been late for class! – so why was it bleeping?

The reality of the situation slowly dawned on her. It wasn't her watch alarm, it was MASK calling her into action. Dr McLean had warned her about it only the day before, when he'd formally inducted her as an agent. He'd said the call could come at any time, day or night and that she should be prepared to head out when it came.

She sighed and started back towards the parking lot. Looked like she wasn't going to make class after all.

* * *

Brad followed the realtor through the house and tried not to look bored. He had a feeling he wasn't all that successful, to judge by the growing hostility the realtor was showing him. It wasn't his fault this house looked almost exactly like the last nine he'd been shown. None of them had the slightest bit of character to them; they all looked as if they'd been assembled from a kit.

He hadn't figured relocating would be anywhere near this hard!

As the realtor began to drone about the high level of workmanship in the kitchen, Brad's watch began to bleep, providing him with the excuse he was looking for.

"Excuse me," he said, offering the realtor his best smile. "I seem to be late for my next appointment."

Then, before the realtor could object, Brad hurried out of the house and climbed into the sporty jeep he'd rented for his stay in Boulder. The summons might well mean he was heading into a life-or-death situation, but that had to beat terminal boredom!

* * *

Rhino was finally behaving, but Buddy was even more convinced that he was going to just rip out the big rig's engine and start over, and do it sooner rather than later. It had taken every second of the last hour to trace the problem – another burnt out section of wiring in the ignition system – and then fix it. Still, it was done and he was **reasonably **certain the rig would condescend to continue behaving.

At least Firecracker didn't need much work. The only order of business was to check the exhaust brackets. Buddy knew there was a suspicious sounding rattle, which had started up during his hasty drive back here the previous evening. Grabbing a wrench, he slid beneath the pickup to take a look.

Sure enough, one of the brackets had come free. He rolled his eyes and lifted his wrench, intending to start tightening it again. As he did so, however, his watch began to bleep. He jumped and instead of the wrench fitting around the bracket, Buddy found himself involuntarily raking his knuckles against the underside of Firecracker.

"Damnit!"

Buddy sucked his abused knuckles and glared at the watch. _Lousy sense of timing. _He acknowledged the call and debated for a second whether he was going to head to the control room now, or whether he had time to at least fix the bracket. On balance, he decided that it was better safe than sorry. For all he knew, they would be heading straight out after the briefing and he wouldn't have another chance to fix it.

_I am so not risking the exhaust dropping off halfway to Colorado Springs,_ he decided, making another attempt to fix the bracket. _Besides, it won't take long._

A couple of minutes later the bracket was fixed and he slid out from beneath Firecracker just as a badly tuned jeep pulled into the vehicle bay. _Rental car,_ he decided with some disgust._ Gotta be. _He watched as the driver parked the car in an out-of-the-way spot and shut the engine off.

The driver, a dark-haired man wearing shades, bounced out, then did a double-take as he realised Buddy was watching him. "Buddy, right?"

Buddy smiled. "Brad." They'd met, briefly, once before, the day before Buddy's eighteenth birthday. That, Buddy realised, had probably been the day Brad was officially inducted into MASK, although given Brad hadn't been around for the ensuing chaos of Sarah's abduction, Buddy hadn't given the older man any further thought. "I'd say it was good to see you but--" He shrugged.

Brad lifted his shades off and tucked them into the top pocket of his jacket. "I know what you mean." Brad hesitated a beat, then added, "You know your way around this joint?"

"Sure." Buddy grabbed a rag from the hood of Firecracker and started to rub his hands. "Control room's this way."

Two steps in that direction and Brad suddenly stopped dead. "I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

Buddy offered a wry grin. "I was just on my way there myself." He tapped his watch in a meaningful fashion.

"Oh. Oh, I see." Brad looked mildly sheepish. "Sorry."

"Meh; it's not like any of this is exactly normal." Buddy smiled wryly again. "C'mon."

He led the way into the control room. Matt, Hondo, Alex and Bruce were already there. Then Buddy spotted a fifth person and he felt his mouth dry up with a mix of fear and anger: Duane Kennedy.

"Great," he muttered, sliding into his normal seat. "Like this day needed to get any worse."

Brad shot him a curious look, but didn't ask. Matt, too, eyed him with interest. Studiously, Buddy stared at the edge of the table and ignored them both.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Duane cleared his throat rather ostentatiously. "Is this it?" he enquired.

"We're just waiting for one more," Matt answered, but even as he spoke, Buddy heard the control room door swish open to admit someone else.

Vaguely, Buddy wondered if the newcomer would be Dusty; then he remembered the Texan had gone home three days earlier, to help out on his father's ranch after his father had broken his ankle. Curious, he looked up to see a young brunette woman standing in the doorway looking nervously at the gathering.

"Gloria, take a seat," Matt directed, taking up his own seat at the same time. "There'll be time for proper introductions later. In the mean time, Duane?"

Duane cleared his throat again. This time, Buddy thought he could detect a certain nervousness to the statesman. As if whatever it was he was going to brief them on was about as bad as it could get.

"At oh-five-hundred hours, local time," Duane began, "the Pentagon lost contact with the Cheyenne Mountain facility. An unknown number of VENOM operatives were able to make their way into the base and take control of operations there."

Buddy stared at Duane in complete incredulity. _How the hell could that have happened?_ he wondered. But the answer was obvious: Duane hadn't believed a single word he'd said the night before. Buddy felt a wave of anger pass through him at that realisation. How the hell could someone in Duane's position let personal prejudice get in the way?

"Our task's simple," said Matt. "We get into Cheyenne Mountain and kick VENOM out."

Matt's matter of fact statement jerked Buddy out of his thoughts. Distantly, he realised he'd missed most of Duane's briefing, but from the expressions on Brad and Gloria's faces, whatever the statesman had said had just confirmed this was proving to be a very, very bad day.

"There's just one snag," said Hondo. "The Cheyenne Mountain facility has security to make your eyes water."

"Why don't we nuke it ourselves?" asked Brad.

"Two reasons," Hondo answered. "First, there'd be no way to evacuate Colorado Springs and the surrounding area without alerting Mayhem. Second, and maybe even more important, the place was designed to survive a close to direct hit with one of the Russian's biggest nukes. You could let it off in the base parking lot and you probably wouldn't so much as spill a cup of tea inside."

Brad winced.

"Then how the hell can we get in and take back control?" Gloria asked.

"It's going to be tricky," said Alex, "but the chief thing we have in our favour is that we have some technology at our disposal that the VENOM team won't be expecting."

Buddy thought of Sarah's abduction and Hondo's idea of backup and guessed Alex probably meant more of that kind of thing.

"Also," Matt continued, "we won't all be going in. Not initially. The plan is for a small, three-person team to sneak into the mountain and release the lockdown. Once that's released, the rest of us can chase VENOM down."

"Wonder who gets to draw the short straw," Brad murmured, provoking a small smile from Gloria.

Matt smiled briefly. "Bruce, as our leading computer and electronics expert, you're team lead. Buddy, you're backup. Gloria, you're team security."

Buddy eyed Gloria again. Team security? Sheppard made at least six of her, and that was assuming it was just him. Throw in Rax, Mayhem and Dagger as well and-- Buddy stopped his train of thought there. Matt had to know a hell of a lot more about Gloria than he did. Presumably somewhere in that information was a reason he'd picked her to round the team out. Buddy was just going to have to trust Matt's judgement.

"There is," said Duane, dragging Buddy's attention back to him, "one last thing you should know: There's a time limit on this. We have to have this resolved by seven-thirty this evening, local time, or Russia and China are going to beat VENOM to the punch."

Buddy glanced at his watch and realised that gave them less than ten hours to complete the mission, and one hour of that would have to be taken up by travelling down to Colorado Springs.

"When every moment is precious, a wise man does not waste the seconds he possesses," Bruce observed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Buddy saw Brad and Gloria exchange glances, but before either of them could ask, Matt said, "Good point, Bruce. We've done enough talking, we need to get on to the doing. Alex? Are they ready?"

"Just," Alex answered. "Although more time testing would have been of use. Are you sure--?"

"We don't have a choice."

Buddy wasn't sure what that was all supposed to mean, though Alex clearly did as he nodded in reply and got to his feet. "Buddy? Gloria? If you would come with me?"

Buddy got to his feet and followed on behind Gloria and Alex as they left the control room. As the control room doors slid shut, he heard Matt say, "OK, let's see if we can fill the holes in the rest of this plan before VENOM can figure them out."

"Is it always this insane?" Gloria asked.

Buddy shrugged and offered her a faint smile. "Maybe not quite this nuts, but it's usually pretty out there."

"So it's not just me?"

"Nope." Buddy grinned despite himself. "Welcome to insanity central."

"It's not quite as bad as Buddy's making out," said Alex, amusement ripe in his voice, "but the nature of what we do does lend itself to the direst of circumstances." He palmed open a lab door and waved them through. "After you."

The lab reminded Buddy of Bruce's lab, a little further along the hallway. The only difference between the two, as far as he could see, was the lack of clutter on the workbenches.

Resting on the central workbench were two objects. Buddy guessed they were masks, like Blaster, except that any resemblance between the three was purely coincidental. For a start, both the masks on the workbench were designed to hide the wearer's whole head, which Blaster certainly didn't. They were also much brighter in colour. One of them was a vivid green; the other a bright yellow.

"Not exactly camouflaged," he observed.

Alex smiled wryly. "I agree. But then again, that's not what they're for."

"What are they?" Gloria asked, frowning.

Alex waved his hand at the two masks in turn and said, "Aura and Penetrator," as if that explained everything.

"They're masks," Buddy supplied, seeing Gloria still looked confused. "They do stuff. Like shoot laser beams."

Gloria lifted an eyebrow. "Laser beams. OK." She shook her head. "Is it me or does this just sound like the most insane thing you've ever heard?"

"It's not just you," Buddy agreed.

"I've told you before," said Alex with mock severity, "I haven't gone insane. At least not yet."

"We've only got your word for that," Gloria muttered, prompting Buddy to grin. He was beginning to suspect he was going to like working with her. "So what to do these do and why are you showing them to us?"

"They're your masks," Alex explained. "Part of their function is to disguise you so that VENOM agents can't identify you and come after you. They have in-built voice changers for that reason. Any time you are on a mission for MASK, you will have access to your mask, unless that mission requires you to work undercover."

"Undercover sounds dangerous," Gloria muttered. "I wonder how they pull that off."

Buddy made no comment. Instead he looked at Alex. "Who's is which and what do they do?"

Alex waved his hand at the yellow dome of Aura and said, "Aura's chiefly a protective mask. It will emit an energy field that can block everything from microwave transmissions and radio frequencies to bullets and other solid kinetic objects. In theory, Gloria," and here Alex smiled ruefully, "you could also use that energy field to repel objects, but there hasn't been time to test that."

"Guinea pig, huh?" she asked, at Alex's answering nod, she shrugged. "Well I didn't figure this was going to be all hugs and puppies and you only get to live once."

"This from the woman who just said undercover work was dangerous," Buddy murmured.

Gloria grinned. "There's danger and there's danger. Undercover work's got way too much potential to go wrong for my taste."

Alex coughed and tried to hide his amusement. Gloria looked bemused. Buddy just shot him a half-hearted glare. "So what does Penetrator do?" he asked.

"Exactly what the name suggests," Alex answered, still looking far too amused for Buddy's liking. "When the Penetrator field is in force, you will, quite literally, be able to walk through walls. It's not an easy mask to use; in fact it's probably the one that requires the most concentration, otherwise," and Alex smiled ruefully, "you end up dropping through the floor."

"Sounds like personal experience," said Gloria.

"It is," Alex agreed. "We finished Penetrator's tests this morning."

Buddy nodded slowly. "What about anything I'm holding when the field comes on?"

"That would go with you. It wouldn't do you much good if it didn't."

Buddy nodded again. Matt's basic plan suddenly made sense: If you could walk through walls, it didn't matter what security was in place. Then the full implications of the plan hit him. He was going to be the one responsible for getting the team into the mountain. _Oh crap._

* * *

"OK; let's suit up and mount up," said Matt, drawing the briefing to a close. "We hit the road in fifteen. Any other holes in the plan, we can plug between here and Colorado Springs."

The comment provoked a scraping of chairs as Hondo, Brad and Bruce stood up. Matt moved to follow them out of the command centre, but Duane stopped him. Matt lifted an eyebrow.

"Duane?"

"Are you sure about having Hawks on this mission?"

Matt leaned back in his seat and gazed at Duane levelly. "This isn't the time, Duane."

"I disagree." Duane folded his arms across his chest. "This isn't a matter of whether or not I think he's trustworthy – hell, he demonstrated just how wrong I've been with what he handed over last night. This is about what you're asking him to do. He's the same age as Marcie, for God's sake."

"Younger, actually."

"And you're asking him to play a key role in a tactical assault that Special Forces think would end up as a blood bath for all sides concerned." Duane shook his head. "And that's not to mention Vanessa Warfield's involvement in this mess."

"I thought you said it wasn't a matter of trust," said Matt dryly.

"It isn't," Duane answered, removing his glasses and rubbing his face tiredly. "It's a matter of whether what you're asking him to do is right – or fair. You're asking him to go up against his only family."

"Fair or not," said Matt, standing up, "we don't have a choice right now. Buddy is the man for the job."

* * *

_Matt has got to be crazy,_ Buddy decided as he got changed. _There's gotta be someone better for this than me._ For the first time since joining MASK, he felt intimidated by the level of trust Matt was placing in him. Surely someone like Hondo, with his Special Forces background, or Alex, with his electronics knowledge, would have been a better back-up for Bruce. And surely Hondo or Alex would have been better suited to the responsibility of getting the team into the mountain in the first place, wouldn't they?

From his locker he withdrew the jacket of his 'uniform' and pulled it on. The uniform reflected his place in the team. It was designed so that he could blend in with a crowd, where necessary, with the jacket offering some rudimentary protection against bullets and knives although Buddy hoped that wasn't something that would ever need to be tested. The one thing the uniform was lacking was gloves, which was something Buddy planned on correcting just as soon as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was drop fingerprints anywhere VENOM was likely to pick them up.

"I can't decide," said Brad as he fastened the collar of his jacket, "whether yellow bike leathers are a good or a bad thing."

"You'll never have to worry about someone not seeing you coming," Buddy replied, fixing the collar of his own jacket. "Guess that'd be a plus."

"But is yellow my colour?" Brad wondered.

"It is now," said Hondo, a grin on his face. "Time we were hitting the road, kid," he added. "You ready?"

Buddy nodded. "As I figure I'm going to be."

Hondo's grin modulated into a supportive smile. "You'll be fine, kid."

Buddy wished he could believe Hondo as he followed the black man out of the locker room and into the vehicle bay. Brad tailed on behind them and made a straight line for Condor.

"Oh, baby, I have been wanting to give you a test ride," he murmured, prompting Buddy to grin despite himself. "She looks like a sweet ride."

"She is," Buddy confirmed, making for Firecracker. "Though she gets kinda twitchy once you're above a hundred and twenty."

Brad nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Buddy reached Firecracker and automatically went to climb into the driver's seat. Hondo cleared his throat. "Other side, kid. You drive like my grandma, remember?"

Buddy sighed. He should have realised Hondo was going to say that.

"Besides," Hondo added, holding his hand out for the keys, "figure you could use the drive down to catch a few zees."

"But I--"

Hondo gave Buddy a long look. "You look like you didn't get more than an hour's sleep last night. So quit arguing, hand the keys over and we'll get going." Meekly, Buddy handed over Firecracker's keys. Hondo nodded. "Better."

As Buddy walked round to the passenger side of the truck, Matt and Gloria entered the bay, closely followed by Bruce and Alex.

"Let's move out, people," Matt called. "Rendezvous at Peterson Airbase in Colorado Springs."

Buddy hauled himself up into the passenger seat as Hondo started Firecracker's engine.

"Ready, kid?"

"Do I get a choice?"

"You'll be fine, kid," said Hondo. "Now let's kick Mayhem outta that mountain before he gets any more bad ideas."

* * *

Cassidy frowned heavily at the balance sheet. That measly two cents were still steadfastly missing and that was despite having recalculated every figure on the sheet twice. In disgust, she pushed away from the desk and flipped the radio on. Maybe a little music would help, but there was no music. Instead, the announcer was saying, "We're now going to go live to Washington for a special press conference from the President, William Strauch."

"Earl!" Cassidy called. "You'd better get in here!" Special presidential press conferences seldom meant anything good – and usually meant some form of serious trouble.

Earl appeared in the office doorway just as the president began speaking. "What--"

Cassidy waved him quiet and pointed at the radio. "Listen." And she turned the volume up.

"…fellow Americans and fellow citizens around the world. Today, we stand together on the brink of disaster."

"At seven o'clock this morning, an unknown number of terrorists forced their way into one of the US military facilities in Colorado and have threatened to turn the weapons housed there on not only this great nation, but on the nations of our allies, our trading partners and on the citizens of the entire free world."

Strauch was pale and sweating beneath the lights focussed on him. Or was it the news he was delivering that made him look so unwell? Carol shifted the whimpering Scott from one hip to the other as she watched the press conference and tried to decide which it was. With a horrible certainty, she knew this was what Matt was mixed up in and for the first time in her life, she wished she'd remained utterly clueless about her son-in-law's line of work.

"In making such a bold move, the terrorists have shown that they have no respect for anyone or anything. That they wish to threaten the whole world and hold it to ransom shows that their greed knows no bounds. That they believe we will meekly sit back and accept this action demonstrates that they really don't know this great nation well."

Carol kissed Scott on the temple. "Daddy's a brave man," she murmured. "If anyone can fix this, he can." _I hope._

"In making this attack here on US soil, the terrorists have sought to bring down this great nation, but all they have done is further strengthened our resolve. We will not cave in to terrorism.

"The international community is standing at our side. Neither they, nor we, will tolerate attacks such as this. We will stand firm against this strike and use all force necessary to bring this situation to an end and we will do this with all due swiftness."

"Kill the feed," Mayhem ordered, as the president concluded his speech. "I've heard enough."

The babble of reporters begging for a moment of Strauch's time suddenly died as Gorey did as ordered. Unconsciously, Vanessa shivered. Just what had they gotten into? From the sounds of that speech, there wasn't a chance in hell of them seeing a single red cent of ransom, and presumably there was a good chance that – as Malloy had predicted – sooner or later someone was going to come and try to kick them out of the mountain.

"Vanessa! Take Dagger and Private Malloy and go investigate Malloy's exit plan."

Mayhem's order made Vanessa start.

"Why?" Rax demanded. "Not like they can do anything to us in here; we're all locked down."

"And for the president to make that speech means he's either bluffing or he knows something that we don't," Mayhem snapped. "Vanessa, get going."

"Yes boss," Vanessa answered. She got to her feet and crooked a finger in Malloy's direction. "Come with me."

As she led the Australian out of the command centre, she heard Mayhem give Gorey a new task. "I want you to pick out a second round of targets. Once they're logged, I want you to put another call through to Washington, promising them that if they don't withdraw their threats, we will make smoking ruins of those new targets."

Beneath her mask, Vanessa gulped.

* * *

"Kid?"

Buddy jerked upright, pulled out of the light doze by Hondo's call. Blinking owlishly, he looked around and realised that Firecracker was now parked in a small aircraft hanger. He blinked again. "We're here?"

Hondo offered a grin. "Been here nearly twenty minutes, fixing the last details."

"You should have woken me sooner."

That just got a shake of the head. "You needed the sleep, kid. Besides, did you really need to hear me chewing out the base commander?"

Buddy struggled up out of the seat. "But--"

Hondo just shook his head again. "You needed the sleep." He grabbed Blaster from the space behind the driver's seat. "Showtime."

After a moment's hesitation, Buddy followed suit, retrieving Penetrator from under his seat. At the back of his mind, it occurred to him that there had to be a better way of storing the masks so that they were ready and easily accessible. Maybe he could have a chat with Bruce about that later, when this was all over – assuming there was a later, of course. He shuddered.

"OK, kid?" Hondo's voice sounded concerned, although his expression was impossible to read.

"Yeah." Buddy signed. "Guess I have to be." He fitted Penetrator's green shell over his head and sealed it, bringing the mask online with a soft hum. "Let's go do this before I get an attack of sanity."

* * *

"Malloy, how the hell much further does this go?" Vanessa demanded. They'd been descending stairs solidly for twenty minutes and still seemed to be no closer to the end.

"Another hundred yards or so, I guess," Malloy replied laconically. "Never measured it."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Some emergency exit."

"We shoulda taken the elevator," Dagger complained.

"There is no elevator," Malloy retorted. "It's an emergency exit."

"So?" Dagger shrugged. "Still shoulda taken the elevator."

Malloy shot Vanessa a bemused look. "He's not too smart, is he?"

Vanessa shrugged. "How many brains do you need to hit things real hard?"

"When you put it like that…"

Abruptly the stairs finished and Vanessa found herself walking along a short level section of hallway with a handful of doors leading off it. Most of the doors were to the left and clearly just led into rooms within the mountain complex, but one, fitted directly ahead, was a clearly sealed exit hatch.

"This it?" she asked.

"Yup. Door right ahead leads you out into a valley at the foot of the mountain. You're still on DOD land once you get out but it's easy enough to slip away from there."

"You've tried?"

"Guy's gotta get a drink someplace." Malloy shrugged. "You Yanks don't keep your bases properly stocked up."

"What about these other rooms?" Vanessa asked, ignoring all bar the first part of Malloy's comments.

"Emergency control room and bunk room. You know, just in case some team of terrorists manages to get into the base and isn't thorough enough about rounding up all the staff." Malloy smirked. "The luuu-tenant was gonna try to make for here – at least he was until your friend pinned him to the wall. Pity those dart things didn't pin him by more than just his uniform."

"Pity," Vanessa agreed, privately thinking that it was nothing of the sort. "All right. What does it take to get that exit door open?"

"Just a bit of muscle. It's not on the main lockdown circuit." Malloy smiled humourlessly. "If I can open it, your big lug can get it done in half the time."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling a lug," Dagger whined.

Malloy didn't look remotely abashed. "This work for you, love?"

Beneath her mask, Vanessa grimaced. "It's not too late for you to get left behind, Malloy." She turned and started back up the stairs. "C'mon. Mayhem wants a report and he wants it now."

* * *

Buddy stared at the rock wall in front of him. "You expect me to believe there's a door there?"

"It is kinda hard to believe," Gloria agreed. She gripped his right arm. "But I figure we have to believe it or else this is gonna be the shortest mission anyone's ever done."

"There is that." Buddy hoped his voice sounded steadier than it felt. "Br--er, Magic? Ready?"

"Every journey begins with a single step," Bruce answered enigmatically even as he took hold of Buddy's left arm.

"Guess it does," said Buddy, judging the remarks probably meant 'yes'. "Here goes nothing. Penetrator – on."

Buddy wasn't sure what was going to happen, and for a few seconds, at least, he was left wondering if the answer was actually going to be "nothing". Then the world started to haze and fade and shift. The colours leached out of what he could see and were replaced by blue-grey shadows – as though the world had stopped being real. Buddy felt his stomach give a lurch at the unsettling effect. Then it lurched again as he realised that he – and by extension, Gloria and Bruce – were slowly slipping down through the ground.

"Focus," advised Bruce.

Buddy swallowed. It was easy for Bruce to say! He wasn't the one whose last meal was threatening to make a second appearance. He swallowed again and concentrated. The slide stopped and it suddenly felt as if he was standing on solid ground again. _OK. Ground solid. Wall not solid._ He swallowed a third time. "Ready?" This time he knew his voice was shaking, but both Gloria and Bruce were too kind to mention it. Instead, Gloria just gently squeezed his arm and Bruce offered a nod – something that Buddy sensed more than he saw. "All right. Guess we go forwards."

The first step was a little awkward as Buddy found himself half dragging Bruce forwards and half being dragged by Gloria. The second step was better. The third step took them right up to the rock wall. _This is it – time to see if this works,_ he thought, swallowing hard. He stepped forwards again – forwards and into the wall. Darkness pressed in on all sides like a thick, heavy shroud. Buddy felt his heart hammering against his ribcage. This was insane. What if it failed right now? What if they were wrong and the secret door was somewhere else? What if--

Buddy forced himself to take a fifth step forwards and they were through the wall and into the hallway.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
